Redound
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: This was inspired by the conversation between Oliver and Tommy said in "Lone Gunmen". Pre-series, AU turn for series run. OLIVER: "Max Fuller. I slept with his fiancée." / TOMMY: "Yeah, before the wedding." / OLIVER: "It was at the rehearsal dinner." / TOMMY: "The rehearsal dinner is technically before the wedding. Besides... who stays mad at a castaway?"


**Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow, the privilege goes to someone else.**

 **a/n: This was inspired by the conversation between Oliver and Tommy said in "Lone Gunmen". Pre-series, AU turn for series run.**

 **Summary:**

 **OLIVER** : _"Max Fuller. I slept with his fiancée."_  
 **TOMMY** : _"Yeah, before the wedding."_  
 **OLIVER** : _"It was at the rehearsal dinner."_  
 **TOMMY** : _"The rehearsal dinner is technically before the wedding. Besides... who stays mad at a castaway?"_

 **aRROW**

* * *

 **Redound**

"Would you just talk to me," Oliver begged, "Please?"

Tommy didn't even look up from the laptop in his lap where he sat on his bed, reclined against a pile of pillows at his headboard to relieve the pressure at his ribs. "What do you expect me to say, Oliver?" his tone suggested he wasn't very invested with his best-friend's giant guilt complex right now; he was trying to focus on the term paper that was due, but the drilling headache between his eyes and the blond pacing the foot of his bed like a caged tiger were not doing him any favours.

He just wanted to get this paper done so he didn't have to worry about it; swallow those lovely prescription pills and bliss-out until it didn't hurt to breath or laugh.

Oliver didn't appear to have the same agenda. "I don't know... I'll take anything right now. What did you have for breakfast? How was the coffee?" he paused. "Are you okay? Are _we_ okay?"

Tommy glanced up and gave him an underbrow glare that stopped the young man in his tracks. "I haven't had an appetite since last night. Your coffee-making skills have always been sub-par, Oliver." His voice was even; he didn't answer the last two (most important) questions; before he turned back to his laptop. He was too tired and sore right now, and he wasn't really sure about the last question himself.

"I can't-" He gave his head a slight shake and nothing more. He was on concussion watch for twenty-four hours; he still had still fifteen hours to go. Oliver was his watchman. He'd tried sleeping when he'd first gotten home, but Oliver waking him up every couple hours made him more tired and annoyed so he opted to stay awake for the duration, use the paper as a distraction (even though staring at the screen wasn't helping his pounding head) and would crash when the watch was over, sleep for a day and a night.

"Tommy..." Oliver said desperately, sitting on the side of the brunette's bed a hand on his flannel clad shin; he fisted the material. Physical contact always comforted him; even if Tommy was angry at him. It was assurance that his best-friend in life was still with him.

"Oliver," he groaned in irritation, shutting his laptop with a sharp click that made the blond flinch, before he shoved it on his cluttered nightstand. "I know you're sorry. But what did you think was going to happen?" He remembered the attack, and the three men who did it. And he'd told the cops exactly who. It was an attack against Oliver; they hadn't been able to get to said man, so they went after his wingman, his best-friend instead.

Oliver stammered, "I-I didn't-"

But Tommy's anger pressed him to continue now that he was started, "What did you think was going to happen when you fucked his wife at his wedding reception! You couldn't have at least done it at the rehearsal dinner when she was still his fiancée?" none at all would have been preferred, but this was Ollie Queen they were talking about.

"I was doing him a favour. She clearly didn't love him if after ten-minutes of marriage she was riding me in the gift room." He grumbled in defence, feeling a surge of anger and shame at the reminder of why he'd run to the E.R. at 2 a.m. in the first place.

Tommy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as the thump in his head increased with the blood rush in his ears, but thought better of it as the appendage throbbed. He dropped his hand into his lap, "That's no excuse."

"I know. I'm so sorry, Tommy." Oliver pleaded. "I won't-"

"Yes. You will."

Oliver grimaced because he knew it was true. "It should have been me."

"You're right." Tommy said bluntly and without sugar-coating. "But it happened to me."

"I know you're angry. I understand." Oliver whispered. "But please just tell me we'll be okay when you're done being angry."

"You're my best-friend in life, Oliver. My blood-brother. And that mean's that I know you can be a complete jerk and asshole... and I love you despite that." Tommy answered truthfully; Oliver's shoulders slumped in relief at that. "Doesn't mean I'm still not pissed, in pain, and tired right now." He warned.

"I'll take it!" he crawled into the opposite side of his friend's bed; leaning against the headboard and pressing their shoulders together despite the room the large bed allowed.

Tommy huffed, but was equally as comforted by the gesture. He didn't know what it would take for him to finally call it quits on their friendship, clearly it wasn't this—they were best-friends in life for a reason so the dark brunette didn't think that there would ever be a line in their relationship. He would take a beating on Oliver's behalf if the occasion warranted it; didn't mean he _liked_ it.

Oliver shifted to get more comfortable, arms crossed over his chest, their thigh aligning; eyes closed and chin on his chest.

"You better not fall asleep," Tommy warned, poking him in the ribs, "You're supposed to be keeping _me_ up, not the other way around."

"I won't," Oliver promised. He rose his head and gave his friend a sly look as he suggested, "But if I did happen to fall asleep, that would be incentive to keep yourself awake as I would not be in the position to wake you if you did fall asleep."

"Not going to happen." Tommy replied, po-faced. "That is not how this is supposed to work, buddy."

"Worth a try," he chuckled. With Max Fuller on the prowl for him, maybe it would be better if he just disappeared for a while; he looked at the bruises and cuts on Tommy's face—if _they_ disappeared for a while. "Hey," Oliver said suddenly. "We should go on a trip."

"What?"

Oliver nodded. "My dad's planning to take _The Queen's Gambit_ to China for a business trip. What do you say? We could hitch a ride,"

"You mean tuck-tail and run," Tommy said wryly.

"Do you think assault charges will hold off Maxi-Pad for long?"

Tommy gave a snort that made him grimace a little. "As long as you're my man-servant until my ribs heal."

Oliver gave an earnest nod. "But I'm not giving you morning service," he joked.

Tommy let out a bark of surprised laughter at that and wrapped his arms immediately around his ribs in response. "Don't make me laugh, Ollie!"

"I can't help it if I'm funny,"

"A pervert more like it,"

"Just not enough to answer the call of Morning Woodchuck." He grinned at his best-friend.

Tommy wagged his head, his lipped pursed tightly to stop from laughing back. "You're an idiot." The fond grin slipped through anyway. "Stuck on a yacht with you to China—the only way off it gonna be overboard."

 _f_

 **aRROW**


End file.
